


fear is the most elegant weapon

by officiallylexie



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Humor, Blow Jobs, Bottom Harry, Coming Untouched, Desperate!Harry, Desperation, Kinda, M/M, Pining, Top Louis, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-05 00:40:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3098510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/officiallylexie/pseuds/officiallylexie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry owns a bookshop and Louis relies too heavily on tradition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fear is the most elegant weapon

**Author's Note:**

> hii so i wrote this based off of a prompt that literally only said "i fell asleep in the bookshop you work at because i read so much" so thanks to whoever is responsible for that prompt! this is the product of that :)
> 
> also, there is art by the lovely ryan to go along with the fic and you can see it here :D

Louis has been coming here for about two years now. It’s something of a tradition to him, something he can’t quite bring himself to change, not that he wants to either. Tradition has always been important to him; from eating cabbage and black-eyed peas on New Years Day to coming to this run-down bookshop every Friday evening and Saturday after noon.

And it’s not, he supposes, as run-down as it could be. Despite the old, dusty, wooden chairs and the books with frayed spines, there are plants and the smell of coffee and pine-scented candles lingering in the air. It’s consistent, never changes. And there’s a boy with long, curly hair and bright eyes who works the register. He never seems to say anything about Louis’ regular appearance, but after a while, he did begin to say, “see you next Friday,” every Saturday evening when Louis would leave with a new book under his arm.

Now, Louis is sat here with Charles Bukowski’s _Burning In Water Drowning In Flame_ in front of him. He hears the soft _pitter patter_ of rain hitting the windows and roof of the bookshop. The curly-haired boy behind the register is flicking through a notepad and scribbling things down, and Louis’ eyes start to flutter shut. He relaxes completely in the wooden chair he’s sat in, feeling comforted and warm with the smell of coffee and pine-scented candles, the warm air of the heating unit blowing down on him, and the soft tap of the rain against the foundations of the old shop.

His breathing evens out to a soft, rhythmic lull and it’s not until he hears footsteps around the shop and books being slid into their respective places on the shelves that he blinks his eyes open tiredly and looks around. The windows are dark and the shop’s light has been dimmed and it’s just him and the boy who’s usually behind the register, except now, he’s not. 

“Morning sleepyhead,” the boy says, glancing at Louis as he pushes a book onto the top shelf. Louis never could reach it without having to knock various other things down in the process.

Louis furrows his eyebrows, rubs his eyes and watches him carefully. “Time s’it?” he mumbles. He suspects that it’s late at night and he subconsciously wonders why the boy didn’t wake him up. Maybe he’s some creep with alternative motives, Louis thinks, though he has his doubts.

“Nearly eleven. You fell asleep.”

“Did I really? I totally forgot,” Louis remarks with a huff as he sits up and closes the book in front of him. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You looked peaceful and, like, relaxed. Which, no offense, is a little bit uncommon for you. You’re usually so tense and, like, not relaxed,” the boy mumbles with a shy shrug, walking toward Louis and sitting on the chair opposite him, three books sitting on his lap. 

“Flattery in its finest form,” Louis counters back in a whisper, unable to keep a small grin from spreading across his lips.

“Always been told I’m quite the charmer.”

When Louis looks up, the boy is smiling at Louis like he’s completely amused by the situation, which he probably is. “What’s your name?”

“Harry,” he answers and holds out his hand in this oddly polite gesture that Louis didn’t think anyone really did anymore. “Yours?”

“Louis.” 

He reluctantly takes Harry’s hand and shakes it, knows his confusion must be evident on his face, but Harry doesn’t comment on it, just takes a look at the book in front of Louis, furrows his eyebrows and frowns.

“S’one of my favourites,” he says, staring at it like he’s trying to figure out a maths problem. “Did you find it so boring that you fell asleep?”

Harry looks genuinely hurt by the fact that Louis has fallen asleep while reading the book, looks even more hurt by the fact that it’s shut without so much as a bookmark to keep his place, signifying that Louis must have no intention of opening it again and reading from where he left off. A part of him wants to pet Harry’s hair and tell him he’ll finish it, to turn that frown into a bright smile again, but another part wants to laugh, get up, and leave right this second because this kid is ridiculous, honestly. 

Instead, he settles for a chuckle and an, “I just didn’t get much sleep, is all.”

“Why not?”

“This an interrogation now?” Louis counters and Harry grins again, which Louis shouldn’t find refreshing or, like, a relief, but he does and he kind of resents himself for it.

“Sorry.”

“Are you?”

“Not really.”

“Figures,” Louis replies as he slowly stands from the chair, adjusting his jumper and his hair a bit before looking back down at Harry, who’s looking up at him all bright-eyed and thoughtful. “I should really get going. It’s late and I’m sure you’re ready to close up and go home.”

“I am home,” Harry says instead, making a gesture with his hand toward the shelves and the rest of the shop.

Louis cocks his head to the side. “This isn’t your home,” he says slowly.

“Might as well be,” Harry replies, offering a kind smile as he stands as well. “But anyway, it was nice finally talking to you after all this time,” he says, “you’re much friendlier than you look.”

“Again with the flattery,” Louis huffs, rolling his eyes, but smiling a little despite himself. He picks up his coat from the back of the chair and gives a little wave.

“See you next Friday.”

And as Louis makes his way to the door, he doesn’t miss the way Harry picks up the book he had left on the table and moves to set it on the counter by the register instead of returning it to its shelf. 

 

-

 

The biting February air is harsh against Louis’ skin, drying it out and making his cheeks feel numb and his nose runny. His coat is thick and restricting and through his black gloves, he can feel the heat of the tea in his hand, warming his palms and his fingertips so the cold doesn’t feel quite so bitter.

He swings the door of the old bookshop open and is instantly relieved by the rush of warm air that hits his cheeks and seeps through all of the layers of his clothing, making him feel cosy and more relaxed already. And as always, there’s the scent of coffee and pine-scented candles and there’s a boy behind the register looking up at Louis with a bright smile. 

“You’re back,” he says, as though it’s a surprise. They both know it isn’t. Louis’ appearance is consistent, never missing a Friday or a Saturday. 

Harry comes around from behind the counter as Louis makes his way to his usual chair in the corner, setting his tea down and shrugging off his coat. The boy drops a book in front of Louis and leans on the edge of the table. Louis watches it wobble under his weight and wonders if Harry should be leaning on it at all.

“You left this,” he says and when Louis looks down, he notices it’s Charles Bukowski’s _Burning In Water Drowning In Flame_. 

“On purpose,” Louis corrects and Harry frowns, pokes him in the chest and Louis is a little taken aback, a little endeared. 

“I’m sure you just forgot it,” he says, ignoring what Louis has just told him. “I even marked your place, see.” He thumbs over the small string peeking out from the pages of the book and Louis furrows his eyebrows.

“How’d you know where I left off?”

“I checked while you were asleep?”

“That’s a little weird, mate. Anything else you want to confess to?”

Louis picks up the book and stares at the cover for a second before flipping open the first page and thumbing over the print absent-mindedly. 

“Um, I have your lighter.”

“Are you serious?” Louis asks and he watches Harry pull a grey lighter from his pocket and hand it over. With a sigh, he thumbs over it for a moment before he stuffs it into his coat pocket and looks up at Harry. Despite the oddness of the entire situation, he’s relieved because he’s been using his stovetop in place of a lighter for a week now and it’s more than a little frustrating to have to go to his kitchen any time he wants a smoke. “Thanks,” is all he says in return and he watches as Harry smiles gently and gets up, returning to his spot behind the counter.

 

-

 

It’s a little before three in the afternoon when Louis makes his way into the shop the next day, instantly welcomed by Harry and the familiar scent and look of the place. Louis thinks about what Harry had said before, about the shop being his home, and Louis is starting to think that maybe he considers it home himself. Which is ridiculous when he really thinks about it because it’s not his. The smell isn’t his, the raggedy spines of the books aren’t his, the dust collected on the wooden shelves isn’t is, and the creakiness of the floorboards and the chairs isn’t his. It’s not his home. But he can’t help feeling more welcomed at the shop than he ever has at his own house. 

He sits at his usual spot and to his surprise, is greeted by Harry carrying a steaming cup of coffee and setting it in front of him. “For you,” he says.

“No thanks,” Louis replies quietly, “I’m more of a tea man myself.” 

“I guessed that about you,” Harry says with a smile and he doesn’t look put-off or offended in any way, which was what Louis was kind of expecting, at least a pout. “Have you finished it?” he asks, sitting in front of Louis and propping his head up on his arms. 

“Finished what?”

“The book.”

“What? Oh, no. Not yet,” Louis says, and if he’s honest, he hasn’t even picked it up, which he supposes makes him a shitty person because Harry had gone to the trouble of finding out where he left off, stuffing a bookmark in his place, and politely handing it back to him. But then again, Louis never asked him to do that.

As expected, Harry frowns at him, all wide-eyed and genuine. “Well, you’re going to, aren’t you?” he asks.

“I don’t know, maybe,” Louis huffs and he starts to feel a little irritated because it’s just a book and he doesn’t have to read it if he doesn’t want to and Harry has no right to sit there and corner him and try to guilt him into reading it with his pouty lips and his innocent eyes. “Don’t you have work to be doing?” 

And he doesn’t mean for it to sound as harsh as Harry probably takes it, but it comes out that way and he doesn’t say anything more, just leans back in his seat and watches Harry nod and walk back to the counter with his shoulders slumped. 

He shouldn’t feel bad, doesn’t do feeling bad, but he does, and he sort of resents himself for it. Harry’s been making him resent himself for a lot of things lately. 

 

Two hours go by before Harry is sat in front of Louis again as Louis is shrugging on his coat and picking up his empty cup of tea to throw in the bin on his way out. 

“Do you have any plans?” Harry asks and he stands as well, takes the empty cup from Louis with a small smile. “I’ll recycle it,” he says.

Of course he recycles. “Not particularly, no,” Louis answers, looking at Harry and chewing on his lower lip. “Wanna take me out on a romantic date to the aquarium? Where we coo at the seals and make out against the dolphin tank?”

“Actually I was thinking we could go to my place,” Harry replies with what looks to be a shy shrug, rocking back and forth on his heels as if he’s nervous. He should be, Louis thinks. In fact, he hopes Harry is nervous. Because after everything that he’s been making Louis feel, he deserves to feel something too.

“Your place?” Louis reiterates, setting his hand on his hip and furrowing his eyebrows. He considers it for a moment, thinks about all of the horror movies he’s seen where people are asked to someone’s house and they end up being a psycho-killer, then decides that Harry looks too genuine and kind for that, thinks that those could potentially be his famous last words, as it were.

“Are you a psycho-killer who’s gonna, like, lock me in your basement and torture me?”

Harry laughs, all bright and dimpled when he looks at Louis again. “Not much for inflicting pain,” he says, “I prefer to receive.”

Louis can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Yeah? Okay. Your place it is, then.”

 

-

 

Harry’s apartment is small and modest. When they walk in, the first thing Louis sees is a mattress sitting on the floor against a wall, a window on the far side of it with candles sat on the windowsill. There’s some kind of abstract painting hanging on the back wall and Louis is attracted to its warm colours, soft blends, and stark edges. There’s a mini kitchen on the east side of the apartment, pots hanging from the ceiling over a small bar dining area. 

It smells like peppermint and pine, almost reminiscent of the shop, but not quite. It’s warm, too, but just cool enough to make Louis want to crawl into Harry’s bed and curl up. He doesn’t. 

“Make yourself at home,” Harry says softly, gesturing around and hanging up his coat on the hanger by the door. Louis just smiles at Harry’s statement, finds it a bit funny because it already kind of feels like home in an odd kind of way. It shouldn’t and he knows that, but he can’t help it and he starts to wonder why he finds himself in this situation so much with Harry lately.

Without saying anything, he hangs his coat beside Harry’s and kicks off his shoes, going to sit on Harry’s bed, or mattress, and watching as the other boy makes his way to his mini-kitchen. He stops watching then. Instead, he pulls out his lighter and lights the candles nearest him, humming a bit to himself. 

When Harry comes back, he’s carrying a tray with little cheese cubes, red grapes, and two glasses of red wine. Louis snorts.

“What is this?” he mumbles with a raised eyebrow and Harry just looks at him for a moment as he sets the tray in front of Louis. 

“Cheese, grapes, and wine,” he answers dumbly, plopping a grape into his mouth and chewing before flashing Louis a satisfied grin. 

“No, I mean, why?”

“Why what?”

Louis picks up a cheese cube and takes a small bite, decides that it actually tastes good before eating the whole thing and taking a small sip of wine. He then shakes his head noncommittally and sighs. When he looks up, Harry’s watching him.

“This is weird,” he says.

“Is it?”

“Yeah, a bit. I mean, I’m in your house eating cheese and grapes and drinking red wine and you’re just looking at me like I’m something to be questioned and it’s weird.”

“I’m not looking at you like you’re something to be questioned,” Harry murmurs with his eyebrows knitted together. Louis watches him take a sip of the wine and swallow, his lips red and wet from the liquid. “I’m looking at you like you’re something to be admired.”

Louis sets his glass down with an indignant huff and picks up a grape, throwing it at Harry’s stupid chest and furrowing his eyebrows at him in frustration. Harry laughs. He fucking _laughs_ , the nerve, honestly. Louis needs to get out of here. He needs to get out of here right now because Harry is fucking ridiculous and he doesn’t know anything and Louis refuses to sit in his house and eat fucking cheese with him and be told that he’s something be admired. Because he isn’t.

He stands quickly and makes a dash to the entrance way of the apartment, grabbing his coat from the rack and yanking it off with a bit more force than is necessary. 

“Where are you going?” Harry asks with a frown as Louis zips up his coat. 

“I have to go,” Louis answers shortly and that’s all he says before he’s opening the door and stepping out of the apartment, shutting the door behind him. The cold air hits him like a fucking train and and he winces, but he keeps his head down as he walks home and tries to ignore whatever it is that he’s feeling in the pit of his stomach because that feeling doesn’t have to be there.

 

-

 

The next few weeks go by and Louis doesn’t go to the bookshop at all. He passes by it everyday on his way home from getting tea, but he doesn’t so much as look inside the windows. He likes to believe that it’s best that he stay away and even if it isn’t, he doesn’t have to know about it. 

He’s been sleeping on Zayn’s sofa quite often lately, letting the dark-haired boy run his fingers through his hair and tell him, _”you really should learn to break down these defence mechanisms,”_ but Louis doesn’t listen. Of course he doesn’t because who wants to hear that they’re fucking up their own life by letting the darker part of their brain take over? Certainly not him and probably not anyone with any sense of dignity. At least, he thinks so. 

And as for breaking tradition, he tells himself that it’s acceptable since he’s protecting everyone that partakes in the tradition, whether knowingly or not. And maybe that’s not completely true. Maybe Zayn’s right and it’s just him being stupid, but it’s how he thinks and how he thinks can’t be wrong in his own life because his life revolves around the way he thinks and the decisions he makes. 

His decision as of now is to stay away from Harry and that’s all it boils down to at the end of the day. And the whole thing plays out nicely for a few weeks until Louis’ standing in line at the cafe he goes to every Saturday afternoon and he sees Harry sitting at a table by the window, fiddling with a piece of straw paper. Louis tries not to stare, tries not to be in utter fucking shock because after all, the cafe is right next door to Harry’s bookshop and it would make sense that Harry would come here from time to time, but this is Louis’ place. This is his place to get tea every morning and the last thing he needs is this curly-haired, bright-eyed boy taking over everything that is _his_.

 _Like his feelings_ , his mind points out, but Louis refuses to acknowledge it.

Harry looks up and it must take a moment to register what’s happening because he hesitates before he stands and Louis panics, makes a mad dash to the door. Harry follows, grabbing him by the arm when they’re outside. “Louis!” he says, pulling Louis back around to face him and frowning at him. “Why are you running from me? If it’s about what I said, then I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, like, offend you or harm you in any way. I just, it’s like -”

“It’s not you. It’s me,” Louis blurts and it could almost be comedic, he sounds so stupid. He knows he does and Harry’s looking at him with this appalled sort of disappointment that Louis can’t fucking stand.

“Are you serious right now?” And Harry genuinely sounds angry, which is a first. “What does that even mean? You’re the one running away from me, so of course it’s you, Louis.”

Louis is just a bit taken aback and for once, silenced by Harry’s tone and the look on his face. He almost looks hurt and Louis refuses to believe that he is because that would be stupid. It would be stupid because Harry doesn’t even know Louis, doesn’t even know his last name for fucks sake. Why should he care if Louis runs from him or not? It’s none of his concern and it definitely isn’t his place to corner Louis like this.

“Let go of me,” is all that he says and Harry does, staring at Louis with this hurt expression that makes Louis’ stomach ache. Stupid.

He turns away as fast as he can and heads through the crowd of people to go home, forgetting about his tea and trying to forget about Harry.

 

-

 

A week passes and Louis is lying in bed when he sees Harry’s book sitting on the nightstand. Reluctantly, he picks it up and carefully opens to the page where the bookmark sits, sighing as he begins to read.

As he reads, he finds that a few poems relate to him, but there’s something in particular that makes him think. 

“ _I know I went mad, almost as an act of theory; the lost are found, the sick are healthy, the non-creators are the creators._ ”

He feels like a fucking dick. He really does and he’s been feeling like one for a while, but this is his first time actually acknowledging it and god, he feels like a dick. Because whether he wants to believe it or not, there comes a time in his life where he meets someone who actually cares and whether he lets them care or not is up to him. But they care and he has to let those people in because when he doesn’t, he’s just letting his head get in the way of something that could potentially be so good for him and the worst part is, he’ll never know if it was or wasn’t. And they say that ignorance is bliss.

 

-

 

It’s eight o’clock on a Saturday night and he’s standing outside Harry’s apartment with nervous hands and a hesitant knock against the cold metal door. Harry’s book is tucked under his arm with the bookmark stuck in a different place in the pages.

Harry answers the door wearing an oversized jumper and grey sweatpants, his hair tousled in a way that Louis thinks is cute and he allows himself to think that because apparently now, his willpower and his dignity has a back problem. Harry looks sleepy, his nose pink, and his lips turned down in something of a frown at the sight of Louis and suddenly, Louis feels very self-conscious. 

“Hi,” Louis says and offers an awkward smile, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Can I come in?” he asks and god, he feels so stupid, but Harry nods and steps aside to let Louis in. 

His apartment looks the same, but smells different. It smells more like cinnamon and sugar rather than pine and peppermint and Louis frowns because even though it still feels homey and comforting, it’s not consistent nor tradition. But then again, who is Louis to be upset about a broken tradition when he himself broke a major one? 

He hesitates awkwardly in the entrance way of the apartment as Harry moves to sit on his mattress, looking at Louis expectantly. “Are you going to sit down?” he asks and gestures at the spot next to him.

Louis only nods, bites his lip for a moment and doesn’t bother with taking off his shoes or his coat in case Harry kicks him out. 

“I kinda came here to give you your book back,” he says and pulls it from under his arm as he sits down on Harry’s mattress, handing it over. 

Harry’s eyes light up at that and he looks up at Louis as if nothing has happened. “Did you finish it?” he asks, smiling a little before looking back down at the book and thumbing over the cover like it’s something fragile, something to be careful with. And Louis supposes it is. 

“Not exactly,” Louis says and he feels something twist in his stomach when Harry’s face falls. “But I did get further than I had before.”

“Why are you returning it if you’re not finished?” Harry asks and pushes the book back into Louis’ hands, now frowning at him full-on.

“Well, I guess that’s not the only reason why I’m here.”

“Oh?”

Louis swallows. He swallows hard because not only is he swallowing all of the words that are sleeping on his tongue, waiting to be awoken and spit out, he’s swallowing his pride and that’s one of the hardest things for him to do, always has been. And the fact that he’s swallowing his pride for Harry, someone who he’s barely become acquainted with, makes it even harder.

“I want to apologise,” Louis mumbles quietly, fidgeting his hands and forcing himself to spit the words out correctly. “For how I acted and for how rude I was to you.”

“Apology accepted.”

That was fast, Louis thinks, but he can tell that it’s genuine and when he looks up, Harry is smiling so brightly and so happily that Louis almost needs a moment to recollect. Almost. He can’t help but smile back.

“So about the book,” Harry says and Louis huffs, lies down on Harry’s mattress and looks up at him. “We’re definitely finishing it.”

“We?”

Harry nods. “Oui, we,” he says with a stupid grin. “There’s obviously no way that you’re ever going to finish it yourself which is, firstly, a bit offensive since I’ve seen you finish books way longer than this in a week. It’s been a couple now, Louis.”

“Oh, so are you going to read it to me as a bedtime story?” Louis teases, raising his eyebrows.

Harry’s grin only brightens and he hums thoughtfully. “Well, now that you mention it,” he says, lying beside Louis. “I think that sounds like an excellent idea.” 

Louis laughs loudly and buries his face in Harry’s pillow to hide his smile a bit. “Oh god,” he murmurs, nodding despite himself. “Okay, but you have to buy me dinner before you take me to bed.”

“Who says I’m taking you to bed?”

“You don’t need to. I know that’s where this will be heading. First, you’re gonna make me dinner and then you’re gonna light candles and turn off all artificial lights and read me my bedtime story. And then, when it gets to a really romantic poem, you’re going to stop, look me in the eyes, and kiss me. And we’ll make love on your mattress-bed thingy and it’ll all be really cliché and annoying.”

Harry stares at Louis for a moment with a slightly open mouth before he lets out this guffaw type thing and wheezes, burying his face in his pillow and beating his fist against the mattress as he laughs. It’s endearing, to say the least, that he’s so amused by something that most people would just barely chuckle at. 

“That’s incredible,” he says once he’s calmed down, but he’s still slightly out of breath.

“What can I say? I’ve watched my fair share of romance films. You can’t fool me.”

 

-

 

As it turns out, Harry is an excellent cook and it's not an extravagant meal, Louis wouldn't want it to be, but it's simple. It's pasta cooked with vegetables and seasonings and topped with a bit of cheese and it's delicious, to say the least.

They eat together on the floor in front of Harry's bed, Louis mocking the way Harry sticks his tongue out when he eats, _like a frog_ , he'd said, and Harry had just giggled and gone all pink in the face. 

 

"This is very... domestic," Harry says after cleaning their plates and crawling onto the bed beside Louis. 

"I hate that word. Aren't you supposed to be reading?" 

"Yes." 

Louis rolls his eyes as Harry grabs the book and sits up, eyeing Louis for a moment as he opens it to the bookmarked page and clears his throat dramatically before he begins to read. 

His lips and tongue move over the words slowly and beautifully and Louis focuses on the way that with each word Harry recites, there's a certain deeper passion behind it. His face tells more of a story than the words do, Louis thinks, and he thinks maybe Harry is a story of his own. Of course he is. Everyone is. But maybe Harry is a special story, one with lots of hooks and development. Louis wants to open Harry's dusty spine and read him from beginning to end, bets that the things he'll learn and understand will mean more to him than any poem the boy’s ever going to read to him. 

"Harry," Louis whispers, cutting him off mid-sentence. Harry pauses and looks up. 

"Hm?"

"Come here." 

"What?" 

"Just come here," Louis whispers and Harry does, hesitantly moving closer to Louis and Louis pulls him down by the shirt collar so their faces are mere centimetres apart. 

Louis closes the gap and presses his lips to Harry's softly. It takes Harry a moment, but he kisses back very gently and sets his hands on Louis' arms, moving in just that little bit closer. 

Harry's lips are soft and wet, much bigger than Louis' own. They're so nice that Louis doesn't think he wants to ever stop kissing them. And maybe he wants them on his neck or his chest. In fact, he knows he does. He wants to feel Harry, wants to expose him and trace his fingers over the bumps in his spine and feel his ridges and edges underneath his fingertips. He wants to explore. 

But he pulls back instead and Harry makes this small sound of disapproval as he sits up and licks his lips. "You kissed me," he says dumbly. 

"Did I? Sorry, short-term memory. I can't recall," Louis huffs with something like a smile forming on his lips. 

"You're gonna turn this into your cliché scenario if you aren't careful," Harry says with a grin and Louis blushes just a little bit. 

“Hm, not quite. You’re missing the candles and the turning off of the artificial lights.”

Louis should be surprised when Harry smiles at him and pulls out a lighter, standing from his place on the bed and stepping to Louis’ side first. He lights the candles that are sitting on this dusty, shelf-like thing. There are six and they seem to all be unscented, just white wax with small drippings that have hardened on the sides.

The boy has a lot of candles, probably more than Louis’ mom does and that’s saying something because his mom has these cabinets in her dining room that are filled with only candles. It’s kind of incredible and Louis wonders if Harry has the same type of thing somewhere in his apartment. Louis’ never met anyone quite like Harry, nor did he want to about a week ago. But sitting on his mattress right now, Louis, for once, is glad that he’s here. 

Harry comes back with this bright smile and excited eyes, sitting down in front of Louis again and humming happily. “How’s this?”

“Beautiful,” Louis answers and Harry gives a small raise of his eyebrow as if he knows exactly what Louis’ thinking. _Not just the candles._

 

-

 

It’s somewhere around midnight when Louis feel Harry get up. Neither of them say anything, but Louis watches Harry walk around the apartment and blow out each of the candles that illuminate the room, one by one. He guesses that he must have fallen asleep and he wonders why Harry hasn’t kicked him out yet. 

When all of the candles are out, Harry crawls back in bed and Louis lays his head on the boy’s chest with a small sigh. “Have you read all of the books that are in your shop?” he whispers.

Harry wraps an arm around Louis’ shoulders. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “They all belonged to me at one point.”

“What’s the story?”

“I used to read a lot when I was younger because it helped me grasp a better perspective of the world, to make my own choices and be the person I wanted to be with the education I was giving myself. I guess I kind of collected books.”

Louis looks at the cracked window on the wall, feels just the vague hint of cold air being blown in and listens to the distant sounds of cars whooshing down the street, the comfortable sounds of a silent night. Harry continues speaking.

“And after a while, I just figured that since I’ve read all of them and got what I needed out of them, it was time to let other people take a peek and get what they need to. S’why I opened the shop in the first place, really.”

Louis considers his words, tries to picture a young Harry holing away in his bedroom and piling up book after book. He thinks the whole thing is kind of incredible, even though he’d never tell Harry that. Or maybe he would. He’s not sure he knows what he’d do anymore because what he’s doing right now definitely isn’t something he ever thought he’d be doing. Lots of things with Harry are things that Louis never would have done with anyone else. It makes him feel a bit vulnerable, really. And he’s not sure he likes that feeling very much. Harry could take advantage of him, like this, could make him feel good and then tear him down. Not that Louis thinks Harry would, but it’s something that crosses his mind.

Surprisingly, he actually feels safe with Harry. He feels at ease and at home, really, something he never would have expected nor wanted. But now he craves it.

“That’s kind of sweet,” he says instead, his arm coming up to wrap around Harry’s waist as he curls into him more.

Harry chuckles, shrugs a little and looks down at Louis. “I suppose.”

“Do you want me to leave?” Louis whispers then and looks up at Harry. “I don’t want to, like, overstay my welcome.”

His head bounces a little against Harry’s chest when the boy chuckles and shakes his head. “You can stay,” he whispers and the words relax Louis just a bit. “As long as you want.”

Neither of them say anything after that and Louis falls asleep listening to Harry’s steady breathing and the soft hum of the heating unit in the corner of the apartment, his head resting on Harry’s chest and their legs tangled together.

 

-

 

The sun’s golden light casts down into the room through the window, illuminating the walls and Harry’s still body lying next to him. Louis guesses that he must have stolen the duvet throughout the night because he’s still rolled up in it and Harry’s kind of curled in on himself a little, his hand resting on Louis’ thigh. 

Harry shifts when Louis sits up and he wakes up when Louis stands to slide his shoes and his coat on. “Where are you going?” he asks in this raspy, slow voice. 

“Uh, tea and home, I thought,” Louis replies with a small smile in Harry’s direction, standing by the entrance way and watching as the boy shakes his head and pats the spot next to him in the bed. 

“Don’t go yet. You haven’t even had breakfast.”

“You plan on cooking it yourself or are you taking me out?”

Harry grins a little, bites on his lower lip. “Which will make you swoon harder?” he murmurs cheekily as he sits up. Louis moves to the bed and and hums a bit in reply, sitting on Harry’s lap instead. 

“Depends. What’re you cooking?”

“Egg on toast?”

 

-

 

It becomes something like a tradition. Louis spends his Friday evenings at the bookshop and comes back Saturday afternoons. They leave together and Louis spends the night at Harry’s apartment where Harry reads to him and in the morning, he makes egg on toast for the both of them and then Louis leaves. And that’s all it is, all it can be, Louis supposes. If it were anything more, they’d be boyfriends and Louis doesn’t do boyfriends. Except he already kind of is.

He realises this on Sunday morning when he’s sitting on Harry’s kitchen counter, the other boy between his legs and they’re kissing. Louis has his hands tangled in Harry’s hair and Harry has his hands on Louis’ thighs, just resting there, nothing else. It’s then that he realises this is the something more. They’ve never discussed labels at all, just kind of gone with the flow and Louis can’t say that he wants to discuss labels. He doesn’t do labels and he’s made enough exceptions for Harry already. 

But he can’t say that it isn’t eating away at him either because if they aren’t labelled, that means they’re both free to be with whoever else they want and the thought of Harry with anyone but him makes Louis’ chest feel tight with something silly. It’s selfish, isn’t it? How he wants Harry all to himself, but doesn’t want to be committed either. He knows it is. But it doesn’t need to be talked about, so instead, he forces himself to forget about it.

When he pulls back, Harry’s lips are red and his face is just a little bit flushed. Louis smirks because _he_ did that. “S’go to bed,” he mumbles and watches as Harry nods and begins to walk to the mattress, lying on his back.

Louis hops off of the counter and follows him, leaning down and crawling over him with a leg on either side of the boy’s body, their faces centimetres apart. “You look a bit flushed,” he teases and hums when he sees Harry blush more, grabs his hands and pins him down before he moves to kiss his neck. 

He gets Harry’s shirt off easily, curious fingers tracing over his chest. “You have tattoos,” he says and fingers over one of the sparrows on the boy’s collarbones. “Is that a moth on your stomach?” he asks with a grin. 

The way Harry arches up into his touch and his breath hitches when Louis runs his fingers over his nipples is beautiful. It makes Louis ache just that little bit more with want for this boy. He wants Harry completely, wants to take him apart and put him back together again, wants to feel his heavy breaths against his neck as Louis pushes into him for the first time. 

They stay like that for a while, Harry on his back and Louis running his hands and lips all over his body. Harry lets out these soft, little whines when Louis does something that feels particularly good and he’s so, _so_ responsive that Louis never wants to stop touching or kissing him.

“Your skin is so soft,” Louis whispers when he gets to Harry’s hips, kissing over the tattoos gently. 

It’s all very euphoric, Harry’s scent, Harry’s noises, Harry’s body laid out in front of him like this. It’s making Louis’ head spin with want.

“Take your shirt off,” Harry then mumbles as Louis begins to work the boy’s trousers off. “I wanna see you too.”

And Louis hesitates for a moment, but slowly slides his shirt off and tosses it to the side, just looking at Harry and watching the boy’s eyes roam over his body. He can’t help but feel just a little self-conscious because it’s been a while since he’s been to the gym and winter isn’t really the time of the year where he watches what he eats. 

“You’re beautiful,” Harry mumbles and sits up, runs his fingers down Louis’ chest and his torso. His hands are cold and Louis shivers a little, blushing at his words. 

“You are,” he says instead, pushing Harry back down and pulling his trousers the rest of the way off before leaning down and pressing hot kisses to Harry’s cotton-clad cock, rubbing his thighs.

Harry makes this pretty sound, high in his throat, and lifts his hips up just slightly, to which Louis shoves them back down with little force. 

“You’re big,” he mumbles and slides his hand inside Harry’s briefs, wrapping it around Harry’s warm cock and humming as he strokes. “And you’re not even fully hard.”

With his free hand, he pushes Harry’s boxers down to his mid-thighs and gets a full look at Harry’s cock. It’s quite big, quite pretty and Louis wants to get his mouth on it, so he does. He licks at the tip experimentally at first, then slowly takes the head into his mouth and sucks softly. Harry’s hand comes to rest on the back of his neck and his cock feels heavy and warm on Louis’ tongue.

He takes him in about halfway and bobs his head slowly, his hands resting on either side of the mattress beside Harry’s hips. Harry is making these high-pitched sounds and mumbling quietly about Louis’ mouth and when Louis looks up through his eyelashes, his eyes are closed and his lips are parted in a small o-shape.

When he pulls off, Harry opens his eyes and looks at Louis. His pupils are heavily dilated and his cheeks are flushed. “Can I suck you now?” he asks. And, god, he looks so innocent, so pretty. Louis wants to give him everything. 

“Yeah, come on,” he says and lies on his back, Harry stumbling to crawl between his legs. He places small kisses down Louis’ neck, over his collarbones, and down his torso. His lips are incredibly soft and warm against Louis’ skin, comforting him as well as turning him on even more. 

Louis allows Harry to pull his trousers and briefs down in one go, lifting his hips off of the bed to make it easier for him. And as soon as Harry looks at Louis’ cock, Louis sees the boy’s eyes light up a little and his cheeks go just that little bit redder. And when Harry goes down on him, he _really_ goes for it.

Harry’s all tongue and soft kisses and noisy sucks as he takes as much of Louis in as he can, pumping the rest with his hand slowly. He’s making these soft, whiny noises around Louis’ cock and humming happily when he takes him all the way in, not pulling off when he gags, but instead, staying there and swallowing around him.

“Fuck,” Louis groans and slides his hand into Harry’s hair, tugging slightly and not missing the little whimper Harry gives in return, the way he leans his head into Louis’ hand as if to ask for more. 

It takes every ounce of strength that he has to pull Harry off of his cock and lean up to kiss him wetly on the mouth. He tastes himself on the boy’s tongue and Harry’s got this desperate approach to the kiss, sliding his tongue against Louis’ and whimpering into it as he gets his hand around Louis’ cock and strokes like he can’t get enough of it. 

“Could you,” Harry starts and blushes, pulling back to hide his face in Louis’ neck. “Do you wanna fuck me?”

Louis can’t say yes quickly enough. “Yeah, fuck. Lie on your back, wanna see your face,” he breathes and Harry instantly does as he’s told, his hands coming up to loosely grip at the sheets by his head. 

“Do you have any, um—”

“Yeah, fuck. Hold on,” Harry murmurs and rolls over onto his stomach as he digs around in a small box beside his bed, exposing his bare bum and Louis grins, slapping it lightly and humming at the sound Harry makes. 

“You have the cutest arse,” he says and smacks it again, squeezing the right cheek and listening to Harry’s whines. “I love it.” He slaps it again, a little harder and watches the skin turn a shy red. 

Harry whimpers a little and turns his head to look at Louis, his face red and eyes hooded. “I found the lube,” he says slowly. And he sounds a bit dazed. Louis wonders if it’s from the slapping. 

“Good lad. Need a condom too.”

“Got it.”

 

When he pushes his first finger inside of Harry, the boy lets out this breathy whimper and arches his back like it’s all he wants or needs, his lips parted and jaw going slack. Louis pushes it as deep as he can and Harry’s so tight around his finger as he slowly moves it in and out of him. When he adds a second finger, Harry’s keening and babbling about how good it feels and needing more. The sounds he makes are so pretty and Louis just drinks them in, pressing wet kisses to Harry’s thighs as he opens him up on his fingers. 

At the third finger, Harry’s begging Louis to hurry up and give him more, rocking his hips down desperately and Louis’ never wanted anyone more than he wants Harry in this moment. He’s never wanted to take someone apart quite like he wants to take Harry apart. 

He pulls his fingers out slowly, the tips catching on Harry’s rim just a little. Harry’s looking up at him all wide-eyed and trusting as Louis slides the condom on and lubes up his cock and it’s beautiful. Harry’s so exposed right now and he’s putting all of his trust into Louis, giving himself up so easily and Louis is suddenly very aware of what it means to wear your heart on your sleeve. 

Harry’s legs slot around Louis’ waist easily as Louis positions himself and slowly pushes inside of Harry’s warm body. He keeps his eyes locked on Harry’s face, though, completely blissed out and beautiful. Harry’s beautiful, especially in this moment.

He lets out these soft little whimpers and clings to Louis’ shoulders like it’s all he can remember how to do, like it’s all he ever wants to do. And when Louis pushes all the way in, Harry makes this whining noise and arches his back up into Louis, his head tossed back. 

“Oh, god,” he breathes out and digs his fingertips into Louis’ shoulderblades. “Louis, please,” he whispers and he looks so blissed out and completely gone, his eyes closed and a blush sitting high on his cheeks. His lips are parted and god, he looks so desperate. 

But the thing about it is, Louis thinks, is that Harry has no idea what he looks like right now. He has no idea what Louis is seeing or thinking and there’s something so completely raw about that, something so vulnerable and open about the fact that Louis is the only one who is seeing Harry like this. He’s the one dragging those pretty sounds from his throat and he’s the one making Harry look so blissed out and dazed. Louis feels so lucky to be able to witness this, let alone be half the reason it’s happening.

“Please move,” Harry whimpers, “ _pleasepleaseplease._ ” 

And when Louis pulls out about halfway and pushes back in, Harry’s entire body seems to go slack and pliant beneath him, his arms falling above his head, his legs loosening around Louis’ waist. He’s so open, so exposed, so beautiful.

It stays like that for a while, Louis moving in and out of Harry at a slow, deep pace, and Harry making these pretty noises that keep bringing Louis closer and closer to the edge. He’s so vocal, moaning and whining like no one has ever told him that it’s not okay so want to loudly.

“Please, go faster, please,” he begs quietly, his words slurring like he’s dizzy from how good it feels. Louis knows the feeling.

He obeys and begins to thrust in and out of Harry faster and harder than he had been, his hands gripping the boy’s thighs and keeping his legs spread so he can get as deep as he wants to. 

 

As Harry gets closer, he starts grabbing at the pillows, the sheets, and Louis’ hair like he just absolutely needs something to hold onto, something to keep him here. He babbles and whimpers and arches his back so he can fuck himself down on Louis’ dick. He looks so good. He looks so fucking good. 

“I’m so close,” Harry whispers breathlessly and Louis grabs his hands, locks their fingers together like the teeth of a zipper and squeezes.

“Yeah?” he asks in return, leaning down and kissing Harry wetly on the mouth as his thrusts get sloppier the closer he gets to coming. “Wanna see you come.”

It only takes a few more thrusts and Harry is coming all over himself without being touched, whimpers and pleads tumbling from his lips as he grips Louis’ hands so tightly that Louis almost winces. 

The way that Harry tightens around his cock when he comes is enough to send Louis over the edge himself, coming with a whiny moan and tipping his head back. He feels Harry’s hands on his chest then, rubbing slowly as Louis comes down from his orgasm, stilling inside of Harry before slowing pulling out and tying the condom off.

He moves to get off of the mattress and throw it away, but Harry just whines and pulls him back down. 

“Leave it on the floor. I’ll throw it out later,” he mumbles and Louis thinks that’s a little gross, but he isn’t going to argue. Instead, he curls himself around Harry and tucks the boy’s face into his chest, lightly carding his fingers through his hair.

“Was I okay?” Harry asks quietly, muffled against Louis’ chest as he tangles their legs together.

Louis thinks the question is absolutely ridiculous because Harry was more than okay. He’s probably the best Louis’ ever had if he’s honest. “Perfect,” he whispers instead and Harry seems to relax completely then, slumping against Louis’ body and making himself smaller even though he’s the larger one. 

They stay like that for the rest of the morning and go out for lunch in the afternoon before Louis has to go home and shower and, like, call his mum or something. His mind still lingers on what he and Harry are and as much as he tries to ignore those thoughts, he knows he’ll have to face it at some point or another.

 

-

 

The following Friday evening, Louis walks into the bookshop with determination by his side. Instead of going to his usual chair at the table in the corner, he goes up to the front desk and leans against it in a way that he hopes strikes a broodingly attractive balance between casual and sexy. 

“Hi,” Harry greets, setting down the book in his hand and smiling brightly at Louis. “How are you?”

Louis freezes just a bit and furrows his eyebrows, huffs out a breath. “Yeah, I’m good,” he says and purses his lips noncommittally. He does not have the strength to bring it up. He can’t ask. He can’t. He’ll wait until Harry does. It’s easier that way, when someone else takes the initiative that Louis doesn’t quite want to take himself.

“You all right?”

Harry’s giving him this weird look that is slightly reminiscent of a concerned mother and Louis feels stupid. He _is_ stupid, actually. 

He fiddles with a loose thread on his sweater and keeps his eyes cast down for a bit before he looks up at Harry and nods his head a little. “Mhm. Do you want to, like, come to mine tonight?” he asks and bites on his lower lip as he looks up at Harry. “You can make us dinner in my kitchen and stuff.” He flashes a playful grin and leans on the counter more.

Harry grins back at Louis and leans forward so their foreheads are almost touching. “Are you, Louis Tomlinson, asking _me_ out for once?” he teases and Louis huffs.

“I’m not asking you out. I’m asking you in,” he mumbles, “in my house.”

“Mm, well I’d love to.”

And Louis smiles at that, leans forward and presses an obnoxious kiss to Harry’s cheek, smirking as he watches the boy wipe it off with mock disgust. 

“We can just walk together,” Harry suggests, “since I don’t know where you live and all. And plus, I close up whenever you leave.”

“Do you? Why?”

“Because you’re always the one who’s here the latest.”

“I was hoping for a more romantic answer, Harold. Like, you close up whenever I leave because when I’m gone, you don’t want to look at anyone else until I return,” he says and Harry laughs at that, going back to putting some books on a cart and moving from behind the register. 

“Well, that too,” he says and Louis likes that answer. 

 

-

 

The walk to Louis’ place from the shop is short, which Louis is grateful for because it’s fucking freezing out and he’s only got on two layers. Harry’s shivering too, his face buried in the collar of his shirt so just his eyes are peeking out in order to see where he’s going, not that it would matter much. Harry stumbles every other step as it is.

Louis fumbles with his key a bit, but manages to get it in and unlock the door, shutting it behind himself and Harry. 

“You’ve got a nice place,” Harry says, looking around and Louis only hums in response because it is a nice place, he supposes. It’s quaint and simple, not very tidy, but it’s not a complete mess. He’s rarely even in his own house anymore, spends his weekends with Harry and most of his weekdays on Zayn’s couch because there’s nothing noble about being alone, in his eyes anyway. 

His house doesn’t feel much like a home to him usually, but when Harry kicks his shoes off by the front door and hangs his coat over the back of the couch before plopping down and kicking his feet up, Louis thinks it could be. 

Louis sits down at Harry’s feet and leans his head back, willing himself to relax. He’s not gonna lie. He’s very tense, very on-edge and Harry seems to notice because he sits up then, crawls toward Louis and pulls him into a hug. 

“You’ve been weird all day,” he mumbles into Louis’ shoulder and Louis just sighs and allows himself to lean into Harry, his face going to the boy’s neck. 

“Have I?”

Harry hums in response, nods and presses kisses to Louis’ shoulder gently. “Wanna talk about it?”

“That’s a hard question.”

“How so?”

“Have you ever wanted something so badly that you stopped wanting it because you hated how much you wanted it?”

Louis can practically feel Harry’s confusion against his skin, can nearly see his creased forehead and furrowed brows, lips pouted out. 

“You mean you’re scared of what comes with wanting it,” he whispers and it’s less of a question, more of an understanding, but Louis nods anyway because it is what he means. 

“I think everyone gets that feeling from time to time,” Harry mumbles into Louis’ skin and Louis can feel warm hands rubbing soothing circles into his back. He has to know what Louis’ thinking. Harry’s goofy, but he’s not an idiot. “But it shouldn’t make you want it any less. Actually, I think the part where you want it less is all in your head. You want to want it less, so you force yourself to believe that you do want it less. But you don’t. You want it all the same. You’re just afraid.”

Louis frowns then because Harry’s right and he knows Harry’s right, but he won’t admit it. Why would he?

“Don’t feed your fears, Louis. That’s all you’re doing.”

 

-

 

The sun shines in from behind Louis’ curtains and casts a warm haze into his bedroom, making everything look bright and peaceful. 

Harry’s face is tucked into Louis’ neck and Louis’ arms are wrapped tightly around Harry, their legs tangled together under the sheets. 

As Louis listens to the soft, rhythmic hum of Harry’s breathing, he thinks about the night before and what Harry had told him. He wonders if Harry was speaking from experience or just wisdom and knowledge of the world itself. He wonders if Harry had any clue what it was that Louis was talking about, what is is that Louis is afraid of wanting. Louis guesses that he probably does, probably just doesn’t want to mention it because he knows Louis is afraid. Harry’s good at respecting boundaries and excellent at waiting until the right moment for things.

The thing is that Louis knows Harry is right and whether he wants to admit to himself or not, he is being a coward and he is feeding his fears. He’s letting his fears get in the way of what he really wants and it should make him feel stupid, but it doesn’t. It doesn’t because at least he’s being honest with himself. That’s more than he can usually say. 

Louis shifts his body so that he’s curled around Harry more and he’s holding him closer to his chest, his own face buried in the boy’s soft curls. Harry’s stirs a little in his arms, mumbling sleepily and stretching his legs out before tangling them with Louis’ again. He’s fairly reminiscent of a sleepy kitten. He’s cute. 

“Morning,” Louis whispers and before he can stop himself, presses a kiss to Harry’s forehead which, much to his pleasure, spreads a bright and sleepy grin across Harry’s lips. 

“Mm, morning,” Harry mumbles back in his familiar, raspy, morning voice. 

“Did you sleep well?”

“Mhm, like a baby. You?”

“Better than most nights.”

 _Better than most nights in my own bed, thanks to you, Harry Styles,_ is what he means to say, but he doesn’t, probably won’t ever. 

Harry shifts a little and he looks up at Louis. There are pillow lines on the side of his face and he’s all puffy from sleep and he looks adorable, to say the least. So Louis leans down, kissing Harry right on the tip of his nose and hums. 

“Gonna make us egg on toast?”

“Thought that was only a Sunday morning thing,” Harry mumbles and shifts closer to Louis instead of making any moves to get up, kissing him softly on the mouth and Louis hums into it, kissing back.

Harry tastes a little stale, like sleep and Louis’ peppermint toothpaste that he’d used the night before. Louis doesn’t exactly mind because he knows he probably doesn’t taste any different, so he leans into Harry more and kisses him a bit deeper, kissing and licking the taste from his mouth until it’s just _Harry and Louis_. 

Louis sighs into the kiss and slides his hands into Harry’s hair, tugging just gently at the ends as Harry kisses him with a bit more intention, hands coming up to rest on Louis’ chest and push him until he’s lying flat on his back. Harry’s on top of him in an instant, kissing him slowly and deeply and running his hands all over his body. Louis allows it.

They’re still a little sleep slow and it’s kind of nice. It’s easy and calm. Louis feels like he can just lie there and be with Harry like this without any other worries or concerns in the world.

“Wanna know what my favourite thing is?” Harry mumbles as he pulls back and kisses down Louis’ neck.

“Hm?”

Harry hums, pushing Louis’ shirt up to reveal his chest and torso, kissing down it slowly and giving little kitten licks to his nipples. “In the mornings, you always have this smell and I can’t really describe it. But it’s nice.”

“Morning stench?” Louis laughs and tries not to shudder when Harry gives his left nipple a tiny and gentle bite. 

“Mm, I don’t know.”

Harry’s kissing his hips now, rubbing up his sides before he stops and nuzzles his face against Louis’ tummy cutely, looking up with this innocence that makes Louis’ dick twitch slightly. 

“Can I suck you?” he asks in the smallest voice Louis’ ever heard from him. 

Louis only nods, slides a hand into Harry’s hair and allows the boy to pull down his briefs and drop them to the floor beside the bed. 

Harry presses wet kisses up and down Louis’ shaft and gives a few shy licks before he takes the tip into his mouth and lets out this contented hum of approval, looking up at Louis through his eyelashes. Louis thinks he’s absolutely beautiful like this.

There’s something about the way that Harry seems to get off so much from just having Louis’ cock in his mouth that brings Louis close to the edge sooner than usual. Harry’s rutting his own hips against the mattress and he’s got Louis’ dick so deep in his throat that his nose is nuzzling against the hair as the base of it. He keeps making these little pleased sounds that are mixed with soft gags and Louis can’t take it.

“Fuck, you’re so good,” he breathes out, keeping a tight grip on Harry’s hair as the boy bobs his head quickly, sucking wetly and getting Louis’ cock so wet and hot. “God, I’m gonna come,” he whimpers and closes his eyes because if he watches Harry for much longer, he’s gonna have a stroke. 

The way his pretty, little mouth looks when it’s wrapped around Louis’ cock is nothing short of obscene. 

When he comes, it’s with a guttural moan of Harry’s name and his hips lift off of the bed a little. When he calms down enough to open his eyes, he sees that Harry’s swallowed most of it except for a little bit that’s dripping down his chin. He reaches out to wipe it away, but Harry beats him to it, thumbing over it before sucking it off with a satisfied hum. 

“Fuck, come here,” Louis breathes and Harry obliges, wrapping his legs around one of Louis’ as he kisses him wetly on the mouth, his hips rutting against Louis’ thigh in nothing less than desperation. 

“I’m so close,” he whispers and tucks his head into Louis’ chest. “Lou,” he whines.

“Close to coming just from sucking me off?”

Louis is a cross between shocked and turned on, eyeing Harry’s red cock before looking at the boy’s face. Harry nods.

“Yeah, fuck. It’s so nice. I can’t help it. Fuck, I’m gonna come, please.”

His hips move a bit sloppier before he comes on Louis’ thigh and Louis can’t move. He’s, like, paralysed because that is so fucking hot and he feels like he can’t handle it. Harry’s panting and making these small sounds against Louis’ chest.

Louis can’t do anything other than run his fingers through Harry’s hair and watch him with his jaw slack. “You’re so hot, Harry,” he then finally breathes after a few moments of not saying anything. “God, who are you,” he laughs, pulling Harry up and into his arms.

He feels Harry smile against his skin and Louis smiles back, absently playing with Harry’s hair.

 

-

 

After they’ve cleaned up had breakfast, they lie on Louis’ couch with the TV on mute, Harry’s head resting on Louis’ chest as he focuses on playing with Louis’ fingers, moving them every which way. 

“Harry, can I ask you something?” Louis whispers, so quietly that he almost thinks that Harry doesn’t hear him, but the boy looks up at him with a soft expression and nods.

“Of course.”

“What are we?” he asks and bites on his lower lip, feels his anxiety start to set in because he’s scared of getting an answer that he doesn’t want, scared of feeling like an idiot. 

Harry seems to be just as conflicted, biting his own lip and sitting up a little so they’re facing each other. “I don’t know about you, but I like you quite a lot,” he says. “And I’d like for us to be, like, boyfriends or something.”

And oh god, there’s that word. _Boyfriends._ Louis hates that word, but he doesn’t say that.

“And I don’t know how you feel about me, but that’s where I’m at.”

“I feel the same,” Louis whispers and looks down at his hands when he sees Harry smile kindly.

“But you’re scared,” Harry says, so Louis doesn’t have to and he’s very grateful for that, glad that Harry can read him the way that he can. 

He looks up then and meets Harry’s eyes, nodding. “Yeah,” he agrees.

Harry shifts closer to him then and hums, locking their fingers together. “We don’t have to be anything that you don’t want to be. In fact, we can take this as slow as you need,” he whispers. “I just need to know what it is that you want.”

“I want you,” Louis says and it’s the easiest thing he’s said so far. He does want Harry. He wants all of him, every bit of him, all the time. Not just on Friday evenings, Saturday nights, and Sunday mornings. He wants Harry to be his and his only. He knows that for a fact, came to terms with it a while back. 

“Good,” Harry replies and kisses Louis on the cheek.

“Where does that leave us?”

Harry hums then and sits up with this smug grin on his lips, taking both of Louis’ hands in his own. “Be my boyfriend?” he asks and presses kisses to each of Louis’ knuckles.

“You’re gross,” Louis laughs, yanking his hands away and tugging Harry in by the waist instead, giving him a sloppy kiss in lieu of an answer. But they both know what it means.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading i hope you like it! please leave comments and kudos and my twitter is @lovingharry if you want to get in touch :)


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